


He Ain't Heavy

by dietplainlite



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: 100 word drabbles, Gen, Holmes Brothers, Kid!Lock, Kidlock, Teenlock, prompt fills
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-10-25
Updated: 2014-06-13
Packaged: 2017-12-30 11:01:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 900
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1017809
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dietplainlite/pseuds/dietplainlite
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of 100 word drabbles featuring the Holmes Brothers.  All are prompt fills from Tumblr.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Poodle

A sticky hand on his forehead woke him. 

“Petunia won’t wake up,” Sherlock whispered. 

Mycroft followed the three year old down stairs to the morning room, where the tiny poodle was curled in her bed by the fireplace. She was cold under Mycroft’s tentative touch.

“I’m sorry, but she won’t be waking up anymore. She’s dead.”

The boy’s eyes widened. “Dead? Why?”

“She’s very old. Mummy got her when she was only fifteen.”

Sherlock butted his head against Mycroft’s shirt and cried. “My chest and tummy hurt.”

“I know. It will get easier,” he lied, holding back his own tears.


	2. 6 years old/different

Mycroft looked at his brother. Sherlock sat with his legs up, arms around his knees, pouting. He’d managed to not only purchase a train ticket on his own but board the train and ride to Mycroft’s school without being questioned. It was Saturday, but Mycroft had to miss his debate club meeting in order to accompany Sherlock home. 

“I’m home in three weeks. What couldn’t wait?”

“Mummy’s been sending me to a playgroup, since I’m going to school next year. I hate it.”

“Why?”

“I’m—different from them and no one talks to me.”

“Well. Different isn’t always so bad.”


	3. 19 years old/addiction

He sees the silhouette in the doorway and laughs. His fat fuck of a brother come to collect him, disapproval exuding from him like ectoplasm. 

“I’m not going to Mummy’s.”

“No, you’re not.”

Sherlock narrows his eyes. It shouldn’t be this easy. 

Oh.

“Rehab. Dull.”

“I’m afraid that Mummy insists, as do the police. You were in possession of a significant amount of cocaine when you overdosed. While I could make the charge go away, I don’t think I will.”

“You can’t make me.”

“No. But I think you’ll prefer it to jail.”

Sherlock flops back on the bed. “Fine.”


	4. 4 years old/won't

Sherlock’s bedtime is 8. Dinner began at 6. It is 9 and Sherlock is still at the table. His eyes close and his head droops. He jerks awake and continues his vigil over the hateful peas.   
Mummy gave up. Father isn’t home. Mycroft is left as the final adversary and he wants to get back to his book.

“How do you know you don’t like them?”

“They smell disgusting.”

“Mummy said just one.”

Sherlock pushes one pea onto his fork. Just as Mycroft sighs in relief, the pea hits him in the nose. He settles in for a long evening.


	5. 3 years old/nightmare

Mycroft wakes up on the very edge of his bed. Sherlock may be in the 90th percentile for height, but he is still a very small boy. It is astonishing how much space he takes up. 

Why was he in his bed to begin with? Oh yes. A small voice in the dark talking about a nightmare. Something about wolves. Still a few hours before his alarm, so Mycroft carries the boy back to his room.

He doesn’t think about how their parents’ door is closer. 

He certainly doesn’t let himself wonder what Sherlock does when Mycroft is at school.


	6. 14 years old/music

Sherlock looks at his brother as the last strains of Mozart’s Requiem flow through his headphones. He doesn’t change the CD right away, but stares at his brother and listens to the clanging and rocking of the train. He doesn’t know why they sent him. Did they think he wouldn’t come home? They may have been right. 

Mycroft looks grave and sleep deprived, as if he actually cares about the dead man they’re going home to bury. Perhaps he does. 

Sherlock drops a Portishead CD into his Discman and looks out the window, counting telephone poles as they fly by.


	7. 5 years old/birthday cake

Their birthdays are 7 years and 2 days apart. Mummy told Mycroft while she was pregnant that Sherlock would be his baby. When he was born, she said he was a late birthday present.

They celebrate on the day in between. Two cakes. No fuss. Mycroft’s friends are home with their families and Sherlock. Well. Mummy blames the lack of suitable playmates in the area. Sherlock hasn’t figured out yet that that isn’t true.

Sherlock doesn’t make a wish because it’s silly. Mycroft pretends to, because that’s what’s done. They do smile at each other once the candles are out.


	8. Haircut

Mycroft had only dozed off for a few seconds. Sherlock must have been lying in wait, because quick as lightning, the boy snipped a lock of hair from Mycroft’s fringe, leaving a jagged gap in his carefully maintained bowl cut.

“I wanted to look at it under my microscope.”

“You could have gotten it from my hairbrush or pillow!”

The smaller boy dropped the scissors. “Oh, well, it doesn’t look that bad.”

“I’ll have to get a whole new haircut!”

Sherlock shrugged. “Then I guess I did you a favor. Oooh! Can I have all the hair for a ‘speriment?”


	9. Family Vacation

Two more hours until they reached their destination, some gloomy castle that Dad would poke around until sunset while Mummy chased after Sherlock.  He would ignore Sherlock, who stared at him while wiggling his top right incisor in and out with his tongue. He’d ignore his brother’s left leg, millimeters from his right leg, not touching but close enough to drive him mad because it might as well be touching. Ignore the squishy sound of his brother’s tooth sucking in and out of his gum.  Ignore the—oh hell.

“Mummy, Sherlock’s tooth came out and it’s bleeding all over me!”


End file.
